Only Dreams Again
by KMSaum
Summary: Early in the game, Nick has to part ways with someone he actually cares about losing. He's also insufferably rude to his three companions. Short one-shot, rated for Nick's mouth.


Just a little one-shot peek at what's going on in that gambler's head when he has to part ways with something he got attached to. Please R&R!

* * *

**Only Dreams Again**

"So what now? They ain't coming back here with the hotel on fire," Coach informed his new colleagues—somewhat unnecessarily—as they exited the last floor of the burning hotel.

"There's supposed to be another evac out towards the mall—we could head thataway," Ellis piped in. His enthusiasm made the third male of the group roll his grey-green eyes in disgust.

"I doubt it makes a difference. If the government's running the thing it's already screwed the pooch at the mall, too."

"Ain't no benefit to thinking like that, mister," Coach responded, hefting an ax in his meaty grip. "I say we get outta this hellhole and find our way to that mall."

"Don't think we have much choice," Rochelle agreed. Her eyes looked resolute but terrified. Again Nick rolled his eyes as they started down the stairs toting everything from a couple of pistols to an old Louisville slugger.

"We gotta head east then, 'round the corner and down the street a ways." Nick perked up for the first time in the conversation, looking hard at Ellis.

"Won't that take us straight past the Country Inn and Suites?" Ellis nodded.

"Sure will, assuming there's something left of it."

"What's so important?" Coach asked, eyebrow raised. The look of interest in Nick's eyes instantly vanished, replaced by the gambler's best poker face and a nonchalant shrug.

"Just a question, Coach. Free speech is legal north of the Mason-Dixon line in case _y'all_ hadn't heard that yet," he sneered, east coast accent ill equipped for the southern word. The older man narrowed his eyes, knowing the man was demeaning him again but refraining from comment.

Besides that, punching a stranger in the teeth wasn't a right Christian thing to do.

* * *

The hike between the hotels was uneventful save a couple of weak horde-rushes and one close call with a Spitter, something no one with at least a single working eyeball could call a good time. The four of them rounded a tall barrier wall into the Country Inn and Suites parking lot. The place was just as abandoned and wrecked as the other hotel had been, save there weren't as many overturned cars here as there had been at the previous stop.

"Looks like this place didn't get it as bad. Worst of it must've happened down the street," Coach mumbled, making the sign of the Lord over his chest when he passed the bodies of a young family laid out in a bloody pile on the concrete. "Not that this is better, mind ya."

"Do y'all hear that?" Ellis quipped suddenly, head cocked sideways like an attentive hound. Soft music was playing somewhere nearby.

"Let's check it out." The others looked at Nick, startled at his uncharacteristic interest. He blew them all off with a shrug and headed for the back part of the lot, round the corner of the building. Ellis managed to stifle his excitement and bounded after him, Coach and Ro bringing up the rear.

The music proved to be issuing from a small guard shack stuck at the back corner of the lot. The radio inside it was oddly unharmed despite being splattered with blood and Boomer bile, its quiet warble wavering though the still Georgia heat like a vesper.

"Dude I _love _this song!" The mechanic gasped, lunging in amidst the gore to turn up the knob on the volume. Coach and the others tensed, expecting the worst—but it seemed that the zombies from the area were largely gone or slain. The sounds of one lone radio did little beyond driving Ellis's ever-buoyant mood through the roof. Rochelle smiled a little as the boy hopped back out of the shack, boot tapping to the rhythm. Worse, she knew he was going to sing and cringed until the first notes were out of his mouth, jumping in mid-verse.

_I often think about that summer, the sweat the moonlight and the lace…and I have rarely held another, when I haven't seen her face."_ He winked at Rochelle as he kept up with the song, voice a perfect tenor, much to her shock. Coach snapped in time along with him, enjoying the quiet moment in the face of everything else they'd seen. "_And I every time I pass a wheat field, and see it dancing in the wind…even though I know it isn't real, I just can't help but feel her hungry arms again…"_ The soft _thrum thrum-thrum_ of the bass guitar picked up as the song bridged into the chorus. When Ellis slipped his thumbs into the belt-loops of his overalls and slid into a couple loosely remembered line dance steps, Rochelle outright laughed and clapped along with him as his voice picked up just a little in volume, enough to ring but not to echo in the still air.

_"She had a need to feel the thunder, chase the lightening from the sky…to watch the storm with all its wonder, raging in her lover's eyes…We had a right to heated passion, like a comet burning bright…"_ he looked up and saw Nick walking away from them, just beyond the guard shack and into the shade of a big oak tree. The man was so intent that Ellis almost lost the last bit of the chorus, popping back in at the last moment.

"_…Rushing headlong in the wind, now we're only dreams again, burning both ends of the night._" Something about the lyric made the gambler pause for half a step, stuck in the memory of time long ago. It _was_ a dream, he was sure, remembering a time when he'd had that same kind of gut-rending longing that the hick on the radio was talking about. Back before he knew better, that was a certainty. Still, the glistening machine parked two spots to the left of the tree only sparked those odd thoughts of days long past into a brighter flame, one Nick was quick to put from his mind.

It _was_ good to see her, though. Goddamn zombie apocalypse and yet there she sat right where he'd left her, pristine and perfect and waiting for him. The others caught up as their moment of well-deserved lightheartedness ended, interested in what had snared Nick's attention so solidly.

The car wasn't brand new but it _was_ glimmering, a shiny, pearly white in the late-afternoon Southern sun. Metallic flakes threw iridescence in the fading light, a sheen of grays, blues, pinks, and greens. Ellis uttered a low whistle of appreciation as the song faded into its last chords; Nick's mouth twisted into an amused smile as he produced a single large key from his pocket. Still a little lost in his own thoughts he hit a button on his key and the trunk, with a smooth whoosh, slid open.

"I'd have marked you as a rust-bucket four-wheel-drive kinda guy, Overalls." The mechanic shook his head, cleaning his hands briskly on his pant legs before running them gently down the front quarter panel. The car-unlike the four of them and _very_ unlike the burning hotel a few blocks off-was unmarred by the infection and the resulting chaos, sitting pleasantly awaiting her owner's return.

"Even a truck man can appreciate a beaute like this. Is she _yours_ Nick?" There was a definitively childish eagerness in the question. "Don't see that many Lexuses down where I'm from. 'Specially not an SC300 in this kind of shape, woo-whee!"

"Wonder of wonders," Nick muttered, rooting around looking for something in the trunk still. "And of course she's mine." Coach, peering in at the gray leather interior, spoke up.

"I'd have marked you as a new-car type yourself, Nick. This baby's straight outta the 90's." Ellis nodded vigorously, excited about a topic close to his grease-slicked heart. He launched into the conversation with abandon.

"A '94 I reckon. They quit making the SC series a while back, this lovely lady ain't new." He squatted down, peering at the long, sloping hood and fenders like a fine jeweler might a diamond. "Looks it, though. Not a _scratch_!"

"Coach, you know the best things in life have to age awhile before they're at their best." Nick closed the trunk, arms laden with his prizes and a lit cigar in his mouth. "Cars, cigars, women...good scotch. She's a '93 Overalls," he added. "Good eye." The younger man beamed—it was by far the nicest thing Nick had ever said to him. Nick slid a sliver flask into his pocket, leaving him with two label-less bottles of clear liquid and a Zippo lighter. Rochelle got a look at the items and incredulousness fanned across her face.

"Are you telling me you wanted to come all the way out here for some damn alcohol and a couple of cigars?"

"C'mon Ro, I had to say goodbye to the love of my life one last time." Nick's tone was usually quite forward when he was being an ass but this time, the comment lacked his usual sneering luster. He patted the hood fondly, ringed hand lingering, and looked at Ellis. "This is the kind of girl you _want_ to find, kid: Long, lean, shapely—"

"If you say 'white' I'ma kick your ass," Rochelle snarled and Coach snorted a laugh. Nick winked at her, back on his game.

"Absolutely not, sweetheart. They're all pink on the inside and that's what counts."

"You're disgusting," she muttered, turning her back on him and heading for the slope visible at the back of the hotel. Ellis frowned at Nick as Coach started after her.

"That ain't no way to speak to a lady, Nick."

"What the hell do _you_ know about the ladies?" he chided, sticking the small bottle of scotch into the breast pocket of his suit coat. A smart man never went _anywhere_ without good whiskey. "You're probably queer."

"WHAT?" The conman laughed at the Southerner's expression as he took off in Rochelle and Coach's wake. The mechanic sputtered for a moment before turning blood red and hollering "That ain't even RIGHT!" before jogging past him to catch up to the others, the back of his neck and ears crimson. Sneering as he passed, the gambler waited until none of the others were looking before he let his rude snicker fade from his face. Nick cast one last mournful look over his white-clad shoulder at the car sitting at the far end of the parking lot, paint job shimmering with idyllic iridescence in the dying light. It was an uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality and it pissed him off, though not nearly as much as abandoning his Lexus outside that po-dunk hotel did. He allowed himself a sigh as he left her behind, the last chords to a song he'd never sing again.

"...So long, beautiful."

* * *

Yes, I know Nick is a jerk, that was purposeful (it's early in the game timeline, I figured he has yet to learn people skills :)) I wanted to give a little peek into his sentimental side (if such a thing exists) and it made sense to me that it would be over something expensive and shiny. ^_^

...I also happen to own said '93 Lexus. She's old it's true, but damn is she pretty at sunset.

"That Summer" is a song by Garth Brooks. He seems to be my L4D2 muse, lol.

Please R&R! Any feedback (constructive especially) is appreciated!

-K-


End file.
